


the devil went down

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-29
Updated: 2007-05-29
Packaged: 2018-09-06 01:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: "When the idea comes to you, you think it’s almost too easy. You wonder how you didn’t think of it until now. You hope you didn’t waste too much time already." Written before the season 2 finale as a "what if" scenario.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title** \- the devil went down  
**Pairing** \- Sam/Dean  
**Word Count** \- 750  
**Rating** \- R  
**Spoilers** \- for episode 2.21, reference to episode 2.8 - Crossroad Blues  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_**the devil went down**_  
  
  
  
When the idea comes to you, you think it’s almost too easy. You wonder how you didn’t think of it until now. You hope you didn’t waste too much time already.   
  
Bobby thinks you’re nuts. He argues with you, yells, tries to talk you out of it, but he doesn’t know what it felt like. What it was like to hold Sam, to feel him go heavy and limp, solid in death, the blood from his mouth trickling hot down the side of your neck.   
  
You’d explain it to him, but you don’t want to think about it ever again.   
  
*  
  
In the end Bobby agrees. He has to because you’re leaving anyway.   
  
You don’t wait for first light. Don’t stop to pack up the car. You leave Bobby in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by demons, and only stop long enough to fill the tank with gas and point the car toward Mississippi.   
  
It’s been too long since you’ve eaten, showered, shaved. You’re pretty sure you stink like blood. Like destruction and death, but it doesn’t matter. You drive anyway, teeth clenched tight together. You don’t even stop long enough to put on music, something which would make Sam laugh. Make him roll his eyes and give you lip.   
  
Thinking about him makes your hands shake. You curl your fingers around the wheel, breathe out through your nose, and press down on the gas.   
  
You’re there in ten hours flat.   
  
*  
  
It should be dark when you get there, you think. The middle of the night, or the sky grey with rain and clouds. Something which fits your mood better.   
  
Instead it’s bright out, sunny. Dirt blows around at your feet. Sticks to the mud still damp in your jeans. You can feel the sun beat hot against the back of your neck.   
  
You dig the hole with your fingers, scratching at rocks and dirt until your hands split open and bleed.   
  
*  
  
It doesn’t take long for her to show up. She’s as beautiful and dangerous as you remember. The powerful ones usually are.   
  
She listens to your plea. She doesn’t want to help at first – still pissed about last time – but you bargain, you make promises. You swear that this is it, there’s no going back now, and in the end, maybe she likes you, because she agrees.   
  
*  
  
Bobby doesn’t talk to you when you get back. He’s sitting on the porch, knees bent, hands clasped together. Wind blows leaves over the tops of his boots. The sun is fading, it’s almost night.   
  
“Do you have any idea what you did?” he asks.   
  
You shake your head. “I did what I had to,” you tell him, because it’s the truth.   
  
*  
  
When Sam wakes up, you’re sitting next to the bed, your head in your hands. Bobby left hours ago, still pissed, still not talking. The sheets rustle, and then Sam’s looking at you, blinking sleepy eyes, rubbing his pale face.   
  
“Dean?” he asks. For the second time in as many days, you cry.   
  
*  
  
Sam doesn’t remember anything. You think that’s a good thing. If he doesn’t remember what happened, he won’t know enough to ask questions.   
  
He wakes up weak. Still tired and hungry. His hands shake when he goes into the bathroom to piss and wash his face. You stand outside the door and stare at his back, at the spot where the knife plunged deep, and can’t stop from reaching out and touching the smooth, unmarked skin.   
  
Sam turns his head, lips quirked in a grin. “Dean?”  
  
You press your hand against his back. His body is warm, blood pulsing quick and hot under his skin.   
  
*  
  
You go to bed that night, curled around him, watching him sleep. You watch the way his chest rises and falls. The flush to his cheeks. The thin line of drool on his chin, seeping into the pillow. You lie facing him, feeling his breath stir your hair, your hand pressed hard to his back.   
  
In the morning the sun is shining bright again. Sam wakes up, smiles at you sleepily. You touch his face, push the hair back from his forehead. He leans over and kisses you, tasting like stale spit and sleep.   
  
You kiss him back, pull him closer. Ten years is what you have now. You hope it’ll be enough.   
  
  
-end-


End file.
